


the lights are on (and they want a show)

by lockerroomgoon



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Connor's a superstar, Connor's into the fact that Jack's into it, Jack's into it, Light Dom/sub, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-22
Updated: 2017-10-22
Packaged: 2019-01-21 13:52:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12459138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lockerroomgoon/pseuds/lockerroomgoon
Summary: “Can we go back to mine? Do you have, like, a curfew?” Connor rushes out.“I’m not sixteen, so no, I don’t have a curfew, dude. I’m yours for the night.” Jack stops there, squeezing Connor’s wrist again and looking him up and down. “Actually, you’reminefor the night, right?”





	the lights are on (and they want a show)

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first try at some Hockey RPF, so be kind, please.
> 
> I'm brand spanking new on Tumblr, too, at lockerroomgoon.

_This isn’t weird, this isn’t weird, this isn’t weird_ , Connor repeats to himself, his back against the cool wall of the hallway.

It isn’t weird for him to be standing in a hallway in his own barn.

It isn’t weird for him to be waiting to talk to a former teammate after the game.

It isn’t weird that he plans on hanging out with the teammate after the game.

It _is_ weird that he’s standing in a back hallway to avoid his teammates, it _is_ weird that the former teammate he’s waiting for is Jack Eichel, and it is _definitely, definitely_ weird that he plans on fucking him after the game.

“Davo.”

The words make him jump, head snapping around to where Jack is walking towards him.

“Little late, Eichs,” Connor half-whispers. He doesn’t know why he’s afraid to make noise, everyone’s probably left by now. The whole thing just feels illicit - always does - in a way he can’t shake.

“Sorry, but your directions kind of blow, dude,” Jack laughs. “Are normal people supposed to be able to pace out fifty meters?”

“Non-Americans, maybe,” Connor snorts, and Jack is close enough to touch, now, so he reaches out to shove him.

Jack catches his hand, though, and his fingers are _tight,tight,tight_ around Connor’s wrist for a fraction of a second before they loosen. It still makes Connor’s breath snag in his chest.

“Already, Davo?” Jack asks, eyebrows raised, smirking like it’s a joke.

“Can we go back to mine? Do you have, like, a curfew?” Connor rushes out.

“I’m not sixteen, so no, I don’t have a curfew, dude. I’m yours for the night.” Jack stops there, squeezing Connor’s wrist again and looking him up and down. “Actually, you’re _mine_ for the night, right?"

Connor doesn’t answer, just swallows thickly and turns on his heel, shaking his wrist from Jack’s grip and trusting that Jack will follow him.

They don’t talk as they walk through the arena or on the ride home, Connor in the driver’s seat gripping the steering wheel so hard his fingers hurt. The silence is typical - they’ve only done this two times since the World Cup, but neither of them are really looking to sit down and analyze the game, no matter who won and who lost.

Just like the last two times, they don’t start as soon as they get in the door. The first time, at Jack’s, they watched a whole movie before they even touched. Connor doesn’t want to wait a whole movie, though.

“You want a drink?” Connor asks, shuffling Jack towards the kitchen.

“You gonna bartend for me, Davo?” Jack chuckles. He sits down on Connor’s kitchen stool, leaning forward onto the breakfast bar as if it’s a real bar.

“Sure,” Connor laughs. “Would you like gatorade, water, or beer?”

“Quite the selection, there, bartender.”

“Shut up,” Connor says, grabbing two beers out of the fridge and sliding one to Jack.

“Not even gonna open the beer for me? Looks like someone’s not getting a tip,” Jack teases.

“Think I’m getting a tip either way, Eichs,” Connor says, eyes raised. Jack’s laugh is always a little too loud, and it echoes in the empty apartment, but Connor likes it anyway.

“Is this seriously our foreplay right now? Like, has the spark gone out and we’re trying to revive it by a little roleplay?”

“Oh my god, Jack.”

“No, c’mon, _bartender_ ,” he pauses, taking a swig of his beer. “Seduce me.”

Connor knows Jack’s just teasing him, trying to get him flustered and blushing. It’s how this always starts - with Jack smiling at him like a sleaze and Connor flushed down to his chest.

“ _Jack_ ,” Connor huffs, leaning back against his counter and setting his beer down.

“The romance is gone,” Jack sighs theatrically, setting his own bottle down and sliding off the stool.

He’s still smirking when he walks around the bar and over to Connor, getting right up in Connor’s space and settling one hand on his hip and the other on the nape of his neck. Connor sort of wishes it didn’t make him shiver so obviously, but it’s not like Jack doesn’t already know how much he affects him.

“Still mine for the night?” Jack asks, hand sliding up to grip Connor’s hair and tug a little, and _God_ that gets Connor right where he lives.

“Yeah, Jack,” Connor breathes out.

Jack leans forward so his lips are pressed against Connor’s ear when he asks, “So you want to move this to the bedroom, then?”

Connor can’t suppress another shiver, helplessly turned on by the way Jack ducks down to kiss at his neck.

“C’mon, Connor,” Jack whispers, like he’s trying to convince Connor, like Connor isn’t already putty in his hands. “You know it’ll be good. I’ll lay you out and finger you ‘til you’re begging. I’ll even hold your wrists over your head like you like when I’m fucking you.”

It’s the kind of dirty talk that gets Connor so good, right in his gut, because Jack always follows through.

“Whaddaya say, babe? You wanna?”

 _God_ it’s such a terrible line, but Connor fucking wants him anyway.

“Yeah, Jack, _please_ ,” he forces out.

“Easy there, tiger,” Jack grins, pulling away. He leans back in to kiss Connor, short but hard, before he grabs ahold of his wrist and tugs him towards the bedroom.

“Strip and get on the bed for me,” Jack says as soon as they get in the door. He steps back to watch as Connor undresses, and Connor knows he has to look at least a little awkward shimmying out of his clothes, but Jack looks at him like he’s putting on a show.

Jack doesn’t move until Connor’s finally undressed and settling down on his back on the bed.

“You keep your lube in your top drawer?” Jack guesses, and he snorts at Connor’s nod and mutters, “So predictable, Connor.”

He strips down to his briefs before he finally grabs the lube and a condom out of Connor’s bedside table, dropping them both next to Connor’s hip before he climbs in between Connor’s legs.

“Easier if we do this part with you on your stomach, you know,” Jack points out, but he must be able to catch the disappointment Connor tries to tamp down, because he quickly says, “We can make do like this, though. Wanna see you.”

He pushes Connor’s legs up, not quite to his chest, but enough for Connor to feel the stretch.

“That’s good, babe, that’s so good,” Jack murmurs when Connor reaches up to hold around the backs of his knees. _Jesus_ , Connor’s not going to last if Jack’s already bringing out the praise and the pet names. He groans because he can’t help it with the way Jack is looking at him like this.

“Shhh,” Jack hums as he strokes his hand down the back of Connor’s thigh.

Jack doesn’t waste time, getting his fingers lubed up and applying gentle pressure at first. He kisses the insides of Connor’s thighs, just under where Connor’s hands are holding his legs, and bites down just as he slides one finger into Connor.

He spends some time - too much time - prepping Connor with just one finger, and it feels good, but Connor wants more.

“Jack, c’mon,” Connor complains.

“None of that,” Jack says, looking up to meet Connor’s eyes. “You’re mine for the night, aren’t you?” He pauses, waiting for Connor’s response. Connor nods, tries to ignore Jack’s answering smirk when he says, “So I set the pace.”

Jack keeps going with one finger as he leans in and sucks a hickey into the inside of Connor’s thigh. Connor throws his head back and pants openly at the ceiling.

“Eyes on me, Connor,” Jack whispers against the bruise he made, winking at Connor and slipping in a second finger right when he meets his eyes. _God_ , Jack always knows just how to get him good.

“Talk to me, baby,” Jack says, and Connor has to choke out a moan before he can even form a word.

“I – it’s – it’s good, Jack, _please_ ,” he groans. He opens his mouth to say something, but then Jack is fucking his fingers in just right and all he can do is let out a breathy little moan.

“There you are, superstar,” Jack says, voice low and raspy. God, that fucking nickname gets Connor so out of his mind. Jack was joking the first time he said it, grinding against on Connor at some hotel in Toronto, and Connor’s knees had buckled so hard and so suddenly that Jack had to hold him up against the wall. It has the same effect here, and Connor has to let go of his leg with one of his hands to drag it through his own hair, pulling just a little.

“Keep it there,” Jack orders, nodding to the hand still buried in his hair. Reflexively, Connor’s hand clenches, tugging at his hair, and he has to draw in a sharp breath.

Jack uses his other hand to hold Connor’s leg up, thumb pressing right into the hickey he put there. Connor doesn’t know how much of this is calculated, how much planning goes into every little action and word that Jack uses to take him apart, but it works so fucking well every damn time that it’s like Jack’s drawn him up like a play on the ice.

He’s still got his eyes on Jack, on the cocky smirk on his mouth and the concentration in his eyes. It’s so hot, how Jack focuses completely on him, so sure of himself and his actions, so precise in how he rocks Connor’s world. He’s caught up in the way Jack licks his lip, too distracted to anticipate him adding a third finger.

“Oh god, oh god, Jack,” Connor gasps out. He feels so fucking close to the edge.

“C’mon, superstar, you can take it, can’t you?” Jack asks, fucking cocksure grin directed right at him. Connor’s too overwhelmed to respond, even more so when Jack drops his voice into a whisper and says, “You can take it for me, can’t you? You want to, don’t you?”

He slows down, raising his eyebrows at Connor like he’s waiting for him to respond, so Connor chokes out a, “Yeah, Jack, I can.”

“That’s good, baby,” Jack praises him, throwing him another sleazy wink and upping his pace until Connor’s letting out little hitching moans with every push in.

Connor doesn’t know how long they’re there, Connor openly moaning and watching the flush make its way down Jack’s neck and onto his chest. He knows Jack’s talking to him, but he’s only catching fragments – “ _so fucking tight”_ and “ _good for me_ ” and “ _mine_.”

“Jack, _please_ ,” Connor breathes out, when it feels like he can’t take any more.

“Hmm?” Jack hums, eyebrows raised again, and Connor remembers what Jack said – “ _I’ll lay you out and finger you ‘til you’re begging._ ”

Connor loses track of how many times he says _please_ and _Jack_ in the next minute or so, looking straight at Jack and biting his lip in that way that always gets Jack going. It must finally be enough for Jack, because he releases Connor’s legs and slowly pulls his fingers out, moving off the bed to strip his boxers off and put the condom on, slicking himself up as he kneels back on to the bed. Connor’s still where Jack left him, one hand in his hair and the other with nails dug into his leg. Jack grabs onto Connor’s hips to drag him down the bed a bit, and Connor keeps his hands where they are. Seeing that makes Jack smile, and he presses a kiss to the inside of Connor’s knee that makes his whole body shudder.

“God, you’re so fucking _sweet_ for it, aren’t you, Connor?” he whispers, tugging Connor’s hands up above his head by his wrists and pinning them there with one of his big hands.

He uses the other hand to cup the back of Connor’s neck again, squeezing just a bit as he leans down for a long, dirty kiss.

Jack’s hand makes a slow path down Connor’s side when he breaks away, grabbing at Connor’s hip when he asks, “You want it?”

“ _God_ , so bad, Jack,” Connor whines.

“Good, baby,” Jack murmurs into Connor’s mouth as he moves his hand again, grabbing his dick and lining up, pushing in so slow and steady it has Connor moaning continuously against Jack’s lips.

Once Jack’s all the way in, he pauses to bring his free hand up and into Connor’s hair.

“Legs around me,” he orders, and his thrusts start up as soon as Connor complies.

It’s unreal, how good it is. Jack starts with slow, punishing thrusts, still kissing Connor stupid. Connor’s so out of breath, trying to pant into Jack’s mouth while still kissing him back.

Jack pulls back a bit, dropping his mouth down to Connor’s ear to run his mouth.

“You’re so fucking hot, Connor. So easy for me, aren’t you?”

Connor wants to agree – he’s _so_ easy for Jack, so easy for his hands and his dick and his teasing touches and his nicknames and his cocky grin – but all he can do his whimper and try to tilt his hips up so Jack can really get him deep.

“Fuck, you’re amazing, baby. So good, superstar, always so fucking good.”

If Jack keeps this up much longer Connor’s going to come untouched. Connor thinks he moans out as much, and he lives for the way Jack’s thrusts stutter when he process the words.

He finds a new rhythm, just as hard but faster, and his hand in Connor’s hair starts tugging, other hand tightening on Connor’s wrists. Connor’s right there, he’s so close, he’s been so close for so long, he just needs -

“Jesus fucking Christ, Connor, you’re _perfect_. You gonna come for me?”

That’s it, he’s shouting through an orgasm, closing his eyes tight as Jack fucks him through it. His brain goes offline for a while, but when he comes back to Jack’s still fucking him, whispering fucking filth into his ear.

“God, you’re fucking made for it. I’d keep you like this forever if I could, fucking gorgeous and open for me, so perfect.”

Connor’s a little oversensitive now, and he knows his moans are verging on whimpers, but he still wants it. Wants Jack to come inside him, to mess him up a little.

Jack bites down on Connor’s neck when he comes, thrusting in deep and grinding there for a long moment as Connor does his best to clench down. He stays in even after his orgasm, using his grip on Connor’s hair to tilt his head for a long, sloppy kiss. They’re still kissing when Jack pulls out, but they have to break it so Jack can tie off the condom and toss it in the trashcan by Connor’s bedside table.

Jack’s released his wrists, but Connor keeps them where they were anyway, until Jack reaches up and tugs one to his mouth, pressing a gentle kiss to Connor’s pulse point before massaging his hands. He gives the other hand the same treatment, laughing softly as he guides Connor to put them down at his sides. “Can’t wreck your pretty hands, superstar.”

“Jack,” Connor whines, squirming a little in place.

“Shh, I got ya,” Jack grins, leaning back over him to press a kiss to his lips before rolling off the bed and walking into the master bath.

“Where the fuck do you keep your washrags?” Jack asks a minute later, popping his head out of the bathroom.

“Bottom left drawer under the sink,” Connor answers. He thinks he hears Jack mutter _dumb place to put them_ and he smiles to himself.

Jack comes back out with two washcloths, one wet and one dry. He’s methodical and soft as he cleans Connor up, and Connor thinks it’s the only time Jack’s ever quiet. He tosses both cloths towards the bathroom when he’s done, climbing back into the bed and tugging Connor on top of him.

“You spending the night?” Connor asks when Jack pulls the covers up over them, hopefulness embarrassingly present in his voice.

“Looking for some morning sex?” Jack teases, but he presses his lips to Connor’s forehead and whispers, “Yeah, Davo, I’m spending the night.”

 _Good_ , Connor thinks, settling into a little more comfortable position and letting his eyes slide closed as Jack starts gently running his fingers up and down his back. He swears he feels a distinct _15_ being traced onto his back and smiles.


End file.
